


An Act

by thatoneinsecurenerd



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Religious Content, Suicide Attempt, blood mention, unsuccessful suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneinsecurenerd/pseuds/thatoneinsecurenerd
Summary: Logan Berry has found his childhood best friend, Patton Hart, sitting on the railing of a bridge, on the literal edge of death. But how did Patton get to this point?***Please heed the tags!!
Comments: 13
Kudos: 78





	An Act

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813445) by [screamingatstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingatstars/pseuds/screamingatstars). 



> I really hope I've done this fic justice. You don't have to read it to understand this, but you should definitely read it after.

Patton Hart was born in a small town in Utah, in the United States. He was the middle child of six siblings (two older and three younger) born to two very religious, Mormon parents. Every Sunday, the family of seven donned their best clothes and attended a service at their local Church. By the time he was ten, he had each of the Ten Commandments memorized, along with a long list of what were considered sins. But also when he was ten, the life he knew was uprooted. 

His father had received a job offer in Florida that was too great to turn down, so, of course, the rest of the family had to leave their small town with him. Destination: some small town in Florida that his parents made sure had an LDS Church of its own. They may have been moving away from home, but that was no excuse to move away from their religion. His parents were firm in that belief. 

Cheerful, smiley Patton Hart took the move in stride. Sure, he knew he'd be leaving close friends, but he knew he could - and would - make more. Kind, older women of the Church were always telling him how he had an attractive personality and a winning smile. His Mama liked to tease him that he could probably even befriend the meanest of bullies – though Patton said he wouldn't want to be friends with bullies, unless he thought he might be able to help them see the error of their ways and convince them to ask the Almighty God above for His forgiveness. 

Whether any of the statements was true would remain to be seen, as Patton began his first day at a new school, in a new town, in a new state. Perhaps for confidence, he wore his favorite polo, in a nice shade of light blue, a nice pair of khaki pants, and a light gray cardigan tied over his shoulders like a superhero’s cape. 

He walked calmly into his new classroom, back ramrod straight and a small smile on his face, even as he felt like skipping in his overwhelming excitement and shaking the hand of every person in the room. He looked at the few students in the room. He was early. He'd wanted to introduce himself to the teacher before class started. Other students were still likely on the playground. 

He looked at the colorful posters on the wall, the large cabinets to the left of the door, the large windows opposite of the door, and the rows and rows of desks. The teacher was seated at his own desk, head bent over a stack of papers. Patton hated that he would have to interrupt the man's work. 

He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself for what was coming, before walking towards the teacher’s desk. He reached it and stood beside it, at first just waiting to be noticed. The room was deadly silent, aside from the scratching of the teacher's pen and the flipping of pages. 

“Excuse me,” Patton finally spoke. All of the heads in the room shot up to look at his unfamiliar voice. He wondered what the other students were thinking about him. _No. He had a task at hand._

“I’m Patton Hart,” the boy said, holding out his hand. “I'm new. Where should I take my seat?” The teacher shook Patton’s hand, and when he released it, he looked around the classroom. He was silent. Patton turned around to look with him, as if he was capable of seeing something the teacher might not. 

“Sit wherever you'd like,” the teacher responded after a moment. “We’ll be rearranging the seating chart today, anyway.” 

“What?” a student cried out. They had returned to their book after getting a quick look at Patton, but upon hearing their teacher speak, their head shot up and their eyes widened behind their glasses. “You can't!” 

“Why can't I, Mr. Berry?” the teacher responded coolly. The student – his last name was Berry, Patton knew now – flushed. He grumbled something as he turned his attention back down to his book. “I'm sorry, what was that?” The teacher’s tone was teasing now. Patton didn't know what to make of this exchange. He was used to strict professionalism, to students obeying every rule without talking back. 

“Nothing, Mr. Sanders,” the boy said, loud enough for the teacher to hear, his eyes still on his book. 

“Well, Mr. Hart, what are you waiting for?” This time, it was Patton who flushed – in embarrassment at not having taken a seat yet. His eyes scanned the classroom, but they were continuously drawn back towards the boy reading the book. Finally, Patton decided to take the seat next to him. He joyfully plopped down into it. 

“Hi,” he said, holding his hand out so that it was visible from the other boy’s peripheral vision. “I'm Patton Hart. And you are?” The boy looked up from his book. 

“Logan Berry,” he responded simply, perhaps coming off as a bit rude. He shook Patton’s hand with a firm grip, and the boy felt more like he was finishing up a job interview (it didn't help that the other boy wore a black button up and a light blue tie that just so happened to be the same color as Patton’s polo) and not introducing himself to a potential friend. 

“Do you and Mr. Sanders often have those… disagreements?” Patton inquired, eyes shining with curiosity. Logan's gaze had returned to his book as soon as he'd released Patton’s hand. 

“It’s all in good fun.” Logan’s voice sounded gentler now, perhaps fond “You didn't hear it from me, but I'm his favorite student. I think that's just because I won the spelling bee again this year.” 

“You must be really smart. I'm _horrible_ at spelling.” 

“I could help you.” _Why did Logan say that? He didn't even_ know _this peppy prep. He only knew his name. They weren't friends. Logan Berry didn't make_ friends _, he made top marks._

“That's so kind of you to say! I have the feeling we’ll become the greatest of friends, Logan Berry, just you wait!” 

*** 

And that certainly held true. Logan and Patton would study for spelling exams at Patton’s house, where they ate two chocolate chip cookies each, baked fresh by Patton’s mom, as if she had a special mother sense that told her when her son was bringing company home. Or maybe it was just that she knew that six kids could work up quite an appetite and that cookies would tide them off until dinner. 

Patton shared his room with his youngest brother, Virgil. The two seemed to be opposites – Patton was outgoing and Virgil was introverted, for one – and yet, they seemed to fit together like two puzzle pieces, two parts of a whole. 

It took Virgil a lot of study visits to warm up to being in the same room as Logan, but by the time Patton and Logan entered high school, Virgil would lay on his bed, headphones over his head and playing music, comforted by Patton and Logan's presence, on the tan carpet, surrounded by textbooks and study guides and notebooks and writing utensils (though Logan always kept a pencil behind his ear and a pen clipped in the pocket of his button up shirt). He was comfortable when Logan would spend the night because his and Patton's study sessions ran long. He was comfortable with Patton being gone for a night, as long as he knew he was at Logan's. 

Patton and Logan grew closer, shared their secrets and their dreams. Patton learned about Logan's dream of becoming a teacher, a dream that molded as Logan grew older and developed specific interests and strengths. Logan learned about Patton’s desire to be a father. Working somewhere, probably, but all Patton was sure of was that he wanted a wife and kids. He never spoke of any particular candidates, girls he might find himself harboring a crush on. 

Maybe it was that he didn't think Logan would want to hear about it. After all, Logan expressed none of his own crushes. Maybe to go into more detail than that was against his religion, Logan thought. He knew of Patton’s religion (compared to his own lack of religion, by the time he was in high school, though his parents had raised him as a member of the Baptist Church), and he knew all of the main points about it – attire, main beliefs, figure of worship, etc. But still, one could never be sure. It didn't do anyone any good to assume. 

Patton helped Logan not to be afraid to branch out and make other friends: people in the school’s book club that Patton didn't attend because he didn't have the focus for novels or a firm grasp on reading comprehension, people in Logan’s AP classes that Patton hadn't been smart enough to get into, and so on. 

And by no means did this pull them apart. At the end of the day, they always had each other. They always had their dreams. They knew each other better than anyone else could ever hope to – even their families. So when Patton one day stopped talking about his dreams of being a father, of marrying a pretty girl and raising children, Logan knew something was up. 

But he didn't ask. He didn't know what to ask or how to ask it, and when they went their separate ways for college, maybe the fact that he hadn’t ever asked was what put a wedge between them. 

They still talked, of course. Patton tried to keep contact with him _so_ often, via video calls, phone calls, text messages, emails... But at some point, Logan must have become too busy. Phone/video calls were postponed indefinitely. Text messages and emails were left read but never replied, there and somehow forgotten. 

Patton would text Logan every holiday, and it was really only then that Patton would get some kind of response. A short conversation. No more discussions of dreams. A wedge only growing between them as they became different people. 

Patton had discovered a lot about himself, things he didn't even dare tell Logan, things he didn't want anyone to know. So maybe he didn't push Logan away – maybe he wanted to pull him closer so he could have someone, _anyone_ – but he pushed everyone else away. He pushed himself away from Virgil, which hurt him so, _so_ much, but he knew it had to be done. 

He moved out of his family's house and into a cheap apartment in a different neighborhood. He didn't answer his family's calls. He stopped attending services on Sundays. He left his Mormon community and the family he’d been a part of. And why? 

He didn't want to tell anyone. He'd committed one of the greatest sins of his religion, and so he pulled away from it, because he knew he wouldn't be forgiven for either act. God wouldn't forgive him, the Church's president wouldn't forgive him, his family wouldn't forgive him. And since he’d seemed to have lost Logan, he shouldered the weight of his great sin alone. 

His shame and his misery overtook his life, and if Logan had thought him a prep once, he became the opposite of that. His bright, modest clothing was replaced with all black clothes: black t-shirts (which evolved to black, long-sleeved shirts) and ripped skinny jeans. In the colder months, a leather jacket. In the warmer months, he wore a black cardigan tied over his shoulders. That was, perhaps, the only thing that hadn’t changed. 

He tried, for a while, to hide the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights of overthinking and worry with makeup, but it only seemed to accentuate them, and he wasn't going for the raccoon look. He didn't bother with makeup after that. He didn't bother with chains or bracelets, the part of his upbringing that demanded he not bring unnecessary attention to himself still embedded within him, despite all he done to go against the strict regulations of his (old) religion. 

He didn't get any tattoos, too scared of the needle. He got a single piercing in his right ear. It was stereotypical. It was symbolic. He’d dyed the tips of his hair bright blue, in the beginning, but it hadn’t lasted – again, the urge within him not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. 

He wasn't a father. He had no wife or kids. He worked in an office, his head down, personality introverted, and words quiet, if ever even spoken. And he didn't speak much. Too afraid to let his years-long, increasingly-heavy secret slip, afraid of everyone's judgement and scorn, afraid it would make its way back to the family who probably considered him disowned because he’d left them, never bothered to keep in touch with them. _Abandoned_ them. 

*** 

Patton knew that his loneliness, his sadness, his shame… It was all his fault. His parents would tell him that he'd made his choices. _He_ was the one who'd committed the sin. He could just as easily choose to undo it, as if that would make him redeemable in the eyes of God. As if Patton actually _did_ have a choice who he liked and who he didn't. 

As if Patton had decided one day to admire the shine of Logan's eyes behind his black, square glasses. As if Patton had decided one day to replace the woman in his fatherhood fantasies with a man. As if he'd actively chosen a path that opposed his religion. 

And he'd tried _so_ hard, once, to deny his feelings. He’d tried to lock the feelings deep down inside him. He’d thrown himself into his religious studies, prayed to God that it was just a phase, that God was only giving him these feelings to show him how wrong they were. But of course, God never came back with an answer. 

Patton had tried dating a girl in college, but it hadn’t lasted. She could tell he didn't like her like that. She didn't ask about his sexuality, but maybe she knew. She didn't seem to judge him for talking to her about Logan, his best friend and the apple of his eye (though he never called him such, not once) – if he could be considered such when Patton must have been pushing him away. 

Patton always wondered if Logan had picked up on his feelings. He was never very astute in that regard, but Patton might not have been subtle about it. He wouldn't know. He hoped that wasn't the case. But maybe it was for the best. After all, if Logan purposefully left him, maybe Patton would be too heartbroken to like boys and would start liking girls again, even if God would never forgive him for his single infraction. 

And Patton knew that he didn't have to push everyone away. He could have continued to keep in touch with his family, even if he had left the Church. Maybe they'd like him much, much less, but they wouldn't have abandoned him, would they have? 

And him not talking to anyone at work? Not daring to make friends because then he’d have the urge to tell them all his secrets including the one he'd tried so long to deny? Not daring to make friends, because what if he ended up with a crush on a different guy and he found out it wasn’t a phase and he was a disgrace to his family and his (old) religion and…? 

Patton could feel his feelings for Logan disappear over time, only replaced by a heavy weight in his heart. He still reached out on holidays, but it hurt so much to keep up the cheerful persona Logan had always known him for: texts with exclamation points and emojis and improper grammar and spelling that Logan had given up on trying to correct. He knew he wasn't that person anymore. 

He was always pretending to be someone he wasn't: a cheerful friend, a straight man, a hard worker (as if he didn't have days where he was pushing himself to get out of bed, stay awake at his desk, and complete work that seemed so fruitless for him in the long run, if there _was_ a long run for him), someone who hadn’t sealed the deal on his ticket to Hell with an imaginary kiss planted on an imaginary man's lips. 

And one night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open though the dark circles under them must have been begging and pleading with his brain to let him sleep and sleep _well_ , for once, Patton had a thought. Rubbing the sore skin of his left arm beneath the long sleeve of his pajama shirt, Patton had a thought. 

It was a thought that screamed in his skull, banged against the edges, hurt like Hell and yet seemed to shine a light towards Heaven. 

His body moved of its own volition. Feet hitting the carpeted floor of his bedroom. Hands pulling black socks and black sneakers onto his feet, his black cardigan pulled over his shoulders properly, because he wasn't a superhero. Superheroes were good. Superheroes didn't have a one-way ticket to Hell with their name in letters as red as blood dripping from an arm and caught under long fingernails. 

His sneakered feet were quiet on the carpeted floor as he walked out of his bedroom door, through a hallway that might've been covered in pictures of a happy family, in another life, through a living room that he no longer saw the point in bothering to clean, and out the front door. 

The cold air hit his face as his sneakered feet hit the pavement. He pulled his cardigan around him tighter, as if that would help anything. 

His footsteps away from his apartment complex were slow, heavy, lethargic. And yet, they seemed determined. Like they had been waiting to traverse this path and now it was finally happening. 

As Patton walked, city lights gave way to tall trees covered in leaves, the light of the moon Patton’s only guide. A few cars would drive by, but not many. Not at this time of night. Not when people were desperate for the quicker way home, to a warm house, a loving family, a warm bed. Things Patton wanted but didn't have, and so, he was taking this route. And then, he reached his destination: a scenic bridge overlooking a dark blue river. 

He walked to the railing, his hands grabbing onto it with a white-knuckled grip as he looked down into the water below. He wondered if, in a different life, he would be taking his kids fishing in this river. 

Except he knew that that life wasn't possible for him. Any sort of happiness wasn't possible for him. There was no saving him. 

He pulled himself into a sitting position on the railing, his breaths the only sound, aside from the crickets singing their song. He tilted his head up towards the stars – the few that could be seen despite pollution – that some may have believed were their ancestors looking down upon them, guiding them. But Patton had no such belief. And even if he did, he'd disgraced his Mormon ancestors with his homosexuality and leaving the Church. They wouldn't accept him up in Heaven with them. He had a one-way ticket to Hell, and since his life already felt like a living Hell, he was here to cash it in. 

After a deep breath, he directed his gaze straight forward, at the city lights twinkling way beyond, the life he was leaving behind him. 

He took another deep breath, one part of his mind suddenly swimming with doubt. But still, he sat on the edge. He could hear another car behind him. He heard it stop. He knew they were going to try to stop him. 

He tried to pretend he wasn't afraid of heights, and he looked down at the massive drop below him. All he’d have to do was push himself off the railing, lean forward…

A single move and it would all be over for him. He'd be free. 

Pounding footsteps sounded behind him. He took another deep breath, as if steeling himself to finally go through with it. 

_A hand grabbed his arm._


End file.
